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<title>...And That's How I Met Tyler Durden by spivetwrites</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946354">...And That's How I Met Tyler Durden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spivetwrites/pseuds/spivetwrites'>spivetwrites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fight Club [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types, Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Non-Canon Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:13:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,042</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spivetwrites/pseuds/spivetwrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's psychiatrist is there for him as his mental health takes a spiral down the drain, and the story of how they meet Tyler Durden.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marla Singer/Original Character(s), Marla Singer/Reader, Narrator (Fight Club)/Original Character(s), Narrator (Fight Club)/Reader, Tyler Durden &amp; Narrator, Tyler Durden/Narrator, Tyler Durden/Narrator/Marla Singer, Tyler Durden/Original Character(s), Tyler Durden/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fight Club [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202426</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1: This Is How It Ends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>People are always asking me if I know Tyler Durden.</p><p> </p><p>“Three minutes,” He said, “This is it, ground zero.”</p><p> </p><p>He had a gun in my mouth. I could taste the cold metal.</p><p> </p><p>“Want to say a few words for the occasion?” He asked me.</p><p> </p><p>I let out a few muffled syllables. With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” He asked, removing the gun from my mouth.</p><p> </p><p>I spat out saliva. “I can't think of anything.” I said.</p><p> </p><p>For a second, I forgot about Tyler's whole controlled demolition thing and I wonder how clean that gun is. I run my tongue over my teeth and spit out once more.</p><p> </p><p>He and I are on top of the Parker-Morris Building with the gun stuck in my mouth, and we hear glass breaking. Look over the edge. It’s a cloudy day, even this high up. This is the world’s tallest building, and this high up the wind is always cold.</p><p> </p><p>One hundred and ninety-one floors up, you look over the edge of the roof and the street below is mottled with a shag carpet of people, standing, looking up.</p><p> </p><p>The breaking glass is a window right below us. A window blows out the side of the building, and then comes a file cabinet big as a black refrigerator, right below us a six-drawer filing cabinet drops right out of the cliff face of the building, and drops turning slowly, and drops getting smaller, and drops disappearing into the packed crowd.</p><p> </p><p>Somewhere in the one hundred and ninety-one floors under us, the Mischief Committee of Project Mayhem are running wild, destroying every scrap of history.</p><p> </p><p>“This isn't really death, We'll be legend! We won't grow old” He says, looking towards his left.</p><p> </p><p>“Tyler, you're thinking of vampires.” He says, in a slightly different voice, looking to his right.</p><p> </p><p>Another window blows out of the building, and glass sprays out, sparkling flock-of-pigeons style, and then a dark wooden desk pushed by the Mischief Committee emerges inch by inch from the side of the building until the desk tilts and slides and turns end-over-end into a magic flying thing lost in the crowd.</p><p> </p><p>The building we're standing on won't be here in ten minutes. I know this because he told me.</p><p> </p><p>You know that old saying, how you always hurt the one you love? Well, it works both ways.</p><p> </p><p>We have front row seats to this theater of mass destruction. The Parker-Morris Building will go over, all one hundred and ninety-one floors, slow as a tree falling in the forest. Timber. You can topple anything. It’s weird to think the place where we’re standing will only be a point in the sky.</p><p>The Demolitions Committee of Project Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns of a dozen buildings with blasting gelatin. In two minutes, primary charges will blow base charges and a few blocks will be reduced to smoldering rubble. While desks and filing cabinets and computers meteor down on the crowd around the building and smoke funnels up from the broken windows and three blocks down the street the demolition team watches the clock,</p><p>But, I know all of this: the gun, the bombs, the anarchy, the explosion, is really all about a guy named Jack.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2: The Insomniac</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hold on, let me back up.</p><p>Around six months ago, I had a new patient walk into my office. His name was Jack, and If I could describe him in one word, it would be: tired.</p><p>Tired of people, society, the endless grind of everyday life, who knows? All I know is that he looked tired.</p><p>Jack had bags under his eyes.</p><p>“It's been six months, I still can't sleep.” He said.</p><p>I nodded and tried to look sympathetic. People with problems come here everyday, and sometimes your sympathy runs out, and you have to plaster a fake sympathetic look on your face for the rest of the day.</p><p>“With insomnia, nothing's real.” He told me. I smiled and nodded for him to go on.</p><p>“Everything's far away...” He continued, “Everything's just a copy, of a copy, of a copy...”</p><p>He had short, kind of scruffy hair but no beard, big brown eyes that looked just the right amount of sad.</p><p>“Like many others, I had become a slave to the Ikea nesting instinct,” He explained, “If I saw something clever, like a coffee table in the shape of a yin-yang, I had to have it. The Klipsk personal office unit. The Hovetrekke home exerbike. Or the Ohamshab sofa wuth the Strinne green stripe pattern... Even the Ryslampa wire lamps of environmentally friendly unbleached paper. I flip through catalogs and wonder, What kind of dining set defines me as a person? I had it all, even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof that they were crafted by the honest, hard working, indigenous peoples of... wherever. But my point... My point is, doc, I... I buy things...because, I don't know what else to do. I can't sleep.”</p><p>He started getting choked up. Oh boy, I thought. Here come the waterworks. I handed him a box of tissues.</p><p>“Am I going to die?” He asked me.</p><p>“No, you can't die of insomnia.” I told him.</p><p>He breathed a sigh of relief.</p><p>“Insomnia is just a symptom of something larger. Find out what's actually wrong. Listen to your body.” I told him.</p><p>“Will you...will you give me something? I just want to sleep.” He said, hopeful.</p><p>“No.” I sighed, “What you need, is healthy and natural sleep.”</p><p>His face fell. The bruised, old fruit type of way his face collapsed, you would've thought he was dead.</p><p>“Wh-what about Narcolepsy, then?” He asked.</p><p>I raised my eyebrow at him.</p><p>“I nod off, I wake up in strange places. I have no idea how I got there.” He continued.</p><p>“You need healthy, natural sleep.” I repeated once more, “Chew some valerian root and get more exercise.”</p><p>“Hey, come on, I'm in pain.” He argued.</p><p>“You wanna see pain?” I told him, “Come with me, swing by First Methodist, Tuesday night. See the brain parasites. See the degenerative bone diseases. The organic brain dysfunctions. See the cancer patients getting by. That's pain.”</p><p>I never thought he'd actually come.</p><p> </p>
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